The Wrong Chicken Soup
by TaigaKunaix
Summary: He was lazy. He made a last resort eating session, onlyy to end up becoming the embodiment of death itself. Read your food labels, guys.


**TFW You're so hungry and so lazy, that you eat food that hasn't been touched in a long time.**

 **GG, Saitama.**

Saitama stretched, and the second he did so, loud cracks erupted from all the joints in his body.

Yes, he was laying on his couch. Yes, he's been laying there ever since the morning. _Yes,_ it is currently 8:54 at _dawn_ at the moment, right now, as he's stretching his joints back into commision.

The only thing to keep some semblance of a pulse in the bald man was his phone, a few books stacked against his coffee table, and the ceiling. He would stretch his leg off the couch and onto the table to get one of the books because _no_ he is not getting up, and his phone was now on 13 percent but he won't charge it, the charger is too far away in leg distance. So why, how could it be possible for even him to get _so_ burnt out from doing nothing?

Well… he doesn't know that answer to that either.

He had woken up today somehow feeling that this was going to be one of those days where he didn't want to move at all, though that was only a taste of the feeling back then. Now, he's drowning in it; the epitome, the _widows_ peak, the absolute _value_ of pure laziness. This is what happens when you have absolutely nothing to do, which is an achievement on its own. No missing homeworks (Saitama doesn't even go to school anymore), no late fees, not even any taxes to do for crying out loud. Saitama had none of that, and to top it all off; he was hungry.

No, like, _painfully_ hungry; his stomach would growl and he would feel a growing pang that would get stronger with every hour that passed. And he didn't feel like there'd be a reason to get up and get food because he'd eat it, and feel hungry again. And said hunger won't ever be cure no matter how much food he eats.

Does this count as depression? Hopefully it doesn't.

He'll have to go against the heavy tides of inertia, his gut was dropping kicking his train of thought. Saitama sluggishly swung his legs and groaned loudly as even more joints in his body cracked. He stretched his arms and his neck before finally standing up and trudging to the kitchen. With a lamenting sigh, he bent down while opening his fridge to see how… empty it was. The only items in there were a jar of water, condiments like ketchup and others, a carton of milk that had at most two tablespoons of milk still in there, and a pack of microwaveable food.

He _forgot_ to do some grocery shopping prior to today. _Big whoop_.

The only thing he could have was the microwaveable food, he pulled it out to see that it was chicken soup. He frowned to himself; Saitama didn't even remember buying a thing of spicy chicken soup within the past week.

But then again, remembering something is also a tiring process.

The last thing Saitama would do is _wait_ for food to come to him, he would always go to either a restaurant, or a grocery store to get or make some grub to sate his stomach. But right now, walking out of his home seemed like taking a journey to the west, and this soup would hopefully cut in some energy for him throughout the rest of the day. This bout of laziness he had is a one time thing.

Indeed, it _is_ a one time thing.

He plopped the pack onto his countertop, it had a plastic seal with the container below being black. This pack would require hot water in order for it to be edible, and that could either be done by microwaving it with water or heating a kettle on the stove, and normally Saitama prefers stovetop boiling above anything else with his soups and noodles.

One look was casted to the stove before he felt a painful oang in his gut again. His stomach could _not_ wait for any of that.

He hastily opened and filled the container up with water without reading anything else, and place it into the microwave for two minutes. He spent one hundred and twenty seconds lamenting how impatient his hunger was now that he's found something edible, staring at the countdown once it reached the final ten. Before the microwave would beep, he pulled the packet right out disregarding how hot it was for a moment and then placing it on the counter. It was then that he actually shook his hand over the heat of the soup, but that didn't completely deter him from the fact that _there it was…_

 _Chicken soup…_ Just _waiting_ for him to devour it.

His mouth watered, he pulled out a pair of chopsticks and a placed a napkin beneath the container and went into his living room to slowly and savoringly enjoy the soup in his hand.

As in, once he sat down and took one breath in and out, he scarfed down the entire thing in less than a minute.

Saitama spread his legs out super wide and reclined all the way back, completely sated and somewhat full of energy now with his stomach making lesser movements. He let out a good loud groan as he stretched his revitalized muscles again, prolonging the position and feeling good as he did so. He stayed in that relaxed, sprawled out recline for several minutes.

Until his stomach was hit with another sensation again, and this time it wasn't a pang. It was a _swirling_ , twisty feeling that he couldn't place because of how sudden it was. Saitama had a very fast acting digestive tract, so it wasn't a surprise that his stomach would start reacting after eating, but in this case, it was _churning_. He quickly retracted from stretching to sit with his knees pulled together and his hand against his stomach, _what the fuck_?

The second he stood up he felt the need to clench his booty cheeks. He took to the kitchen and went to the trash bin while walking in a weird gate because of his stomach's _doodly-doo swirling conflict_. He looked at the front of the packet just to see what could possibly cause this reaction; no, he didn't have any kind of notable allergies, nor is he intolerant to anything interesting he ingredients. He's eaten this brand of chicken soup before, why was his stomach suddenly kicking in like this? His eyes glanced over the expiration date in his search before going back to the date on the very top right on of the cover in white letters:

 **Best Used By 10/30** … in other words _, two months ago._

 _Well, would you look at that;_ this a'here chicken soup was _expired_.

Saitama slapped his bald head in shock, _oh no_ …

 _Oh shit._

"ACK!" He made an unintelligible sound as he dashed his way to the bathroom, undoing the buttons around his pajamas. He damn near slipped on carpet (how does one even accomplish that…) while grabbing the bathroom door knob and shakily twisting, pushing it open and falling on the bathroom floor from slipping on the mat. He stumbled back up, pulled his pants down and plopped onto the toilet, gripping onto the counter right next to him as the spicy chicken soup started doing it's little _magic_ right through his bowels. His legs went up as he couldn't keep them still on the floor before him, and said surface was starting to shake beneath him. The countertop cracked under the force of his grip, the bathroom tiles broke with every second he spend _dying_ on the toilet, and the curtains of his shower soon fell from the rumbling of the floor. Everything started to fall of the shelves, all the body washes, soaps, unused shampoos (for a reason) were now clashing with the floor, which was breaking completely from Saitama's suffering, and the houses around him rumbled. Everything within the premise of the entire _complex_ broke and shook with his own home, until the entire complex _exploded_ under the roaring sound of Saitama's screaming, fire and debris flying everywhere with smoke covering this sector of the Z-city for _miles_ on end...

... Okay, that didn't actually happen.

The very _picosecond_ Saitama's taut ass made contact with the cold toilet seat, he felt like at least _twenty_ pounds were shaved right off his person, and not in a good way. He legs went right the heck up as if he was sitting on a damn skateboard and he made whimpering noises, unable to control the flow of his bowel movements, nothing but _not nice_ sounds filled the entire bathroom. He leaned back trying to straighten himself but that only made things worse, and he had to grasp the toilet paper roll for leverage as his body damn near emptied _itself_ out. There were moments where it would stop, and Saitama, thinking that everything was perfectly fine, would attempt to stand up before that pang hit him and he would unleash more of the demons in his stomach.

 _Five minutes._

 _Five whole minutes_ of him staying in this state. Then, just like that, it all stopped.

Saitama was _sweating_ , sinking back onto the toilet head and lightly panting with his eyes closed. He wouldn't trust his bowels, he sat there just in case another run would dropkick his ass… and also because his legs were shaky. It was _that bad_ ; this man's pants sounded like he was also lightly whimpering with his voice cracking randomly, if he stood up he'd probably fall and the force of that fall would cause him to shit again.

He didn't feel lazy anymore, now he just wanted to curl up in his bed.

Saitama finally gathered the courage to stand up again and _slowly_ this time, his legs were wobbly and he staggered to the bathroom door, holding himself against the frame and laying his head against it. _What life choices…._ Did he _make_ , to end up in a situation like this?

It's quite sad how he could pinpoint the exact reasons: he didn't do any grocery shopping, he chose a last resort meal, and he didn't even check to see if it was still edible or not. Laziness led to him feeling all empty and loose like wet noodles.

Saitama's gut panged at the very thought of _noodles_ , he held himself together and slowly walked to his bedroom, collapsing onto his bed and pulling his knees up to his chest because _oh thy fuck, that_ was the most intense shitting session he's ever had in his life. He pulled the blanket over his body and closed his eyes to sleep his exhaustion off, and to forget that this whole ordeal had ever happe-

His stomach started cursing him out again. The churning came back and Saitama had to flip himself off his own sheets to clumsily ran back to the bathroom to suffer once more, sliding right on to the seat and letting his uncontrollable bowels do the _rest_ of the talking...

"Master… Master?"

Genos blinked at the bald man, who was _scanning_ the pack of chicken he was holding. He would intently read the packet's cover, back, sides and anything any item of food before deciding on whether he'd take it or not. It took a leaning forward Genos and a snap of his fingers to bring Saitama back from his printing press-esque mannerisms.

"Huh?"

"Master… Are you okay?" Genos showed concern for how concentrated Saitama was; it was as if reading the food labels were a matter of life or death to him.

 _Well, whaddaya know…_

"I'm fine, Genos." He reassured, before grabbing a pack of meat and reading through the labels again. "Just… just go and find a thing of… I dunno, frozen pizza or something."

Genos raised a brow, before complying. "Alright, Master." He bowed slightly before turning around and heading to the other frozen food section.

"WAIT-Genos, Genos, come back for a moment."

Genos did a two-step back to lean his head into the section Saitama was in. His master was pointing warily at him.

"...Make sure you read the labels."

Again, Genos was confused as to why he would stipulate so hard on _food labels_. But he complied anyway, seeing the very serious look on Saitama's face. "I will make sure to read them, Master." With that, Genos went on his search, leaving Saitama alone to read over every label of any favorable item.

From that one experience, Saitama had garnered the habit of looking at _every_ expiration date on _everything_ he ends up buying.

 **Spicy Expired Chicken Soup is the downfall of everybody.**

 **Moral of the story here:** _ **Read your expiration dates**_ **. You'll hate your life if you don't.**


End file.
